When tucking Lauren into bed at night, I would say "arrivederci" and she would say "au revoir" which both mean "until we meet again". Both words are on my list of tattoos to get this year. We stole it from one of our favorite movies, 13 going on 30.
Last year brought with it a lot of heartache, to say the least, not to mention a feeling of hopelessness that I have never felt before in my life. I would say that, up until Lauren had the psychic reading in July, I was still hopeful that the cannabis oil was going to work. It was then that my hope began to fade and I began to come to terms with what was to come.
I had to continually remind myself that this was Lauren's journey, not mine. She is but part of my journey. Someone given to me to nurture and teach, only she taught me more than I could have ever taught her. I still have panic attacks with thoughts of whether I said all I needed to say. Things I may have forgotten.
In the last two days of her life, I prayed for her to go. I whispered in her ear how much we loved her and that it was okay. That we would be okay. I reminded her that I would keep my promise to take care of Jim. She was so worried about him. Even when the psychic channeled Lauren when she was sedated, less than 48 hours before she took her last breath, Lauren told her she was most worried about her dad. She said that she felt we were not ready yet. That is why I felt it was important for her to know we were and that we would be strong, for her.
I have had to watch my child endure more than most parents ever will. Things only nightmares are made of. Her suffering the last 12 hours. Almost like the final act of a horrible tragedy. I hated that she felt her identity had been stolen. As her mom, I wanted to fix EVERYTHING. But I could not and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I don't even know where I am these days. I am coping. That is the best that I can do. I guess I am lucky that I don't have anyone saying "get out, you will feel better" or "it is time to move on" ... In fact, I really don't have anyone saying anything. Sometimes it is good. I need the space. But sometimes the silence can be deafening, frightening, terrifying. But, I digress. I need that perfect someone that doesn't say "what do you need" but just does it.
This year is a new beginning for me. I was not ready to be an empty-nest'er. I am only 41 years old. When I stare into her eyes in the pictures I have hanging, I feel her warmth surround me. She is nurturing me.
